Uprising Of The Parasite
by Comic-cake
Summary: Her memory is wiped and she knows nothing of her life before this moment. She belongs to us now.
1. Blank Canvas

"Did it work?"

Her words brim with anticipation, echoing around the barren room.

He glances over his shoulder at his ever-faithful companion and offers her a wry smile, "Yes my dear, it's been a success."

His eyes revert back to the unconscious girl lying on the makeshift bed in front of him, "Her memory is wiped and she knows nothing of her life before this moment. She belongs to us now."

Mystique's eyes sparkle with adoration, fixed on Erik. He is clothed from head to foot in black, only a swish of vibrant red visible on the underside of his cape. His body language is regal, his frame square and strong, filled with grandeur.

"She's a blank canvas," he continues, a slight smile hitching, "Ready to be painted any colour I choose."

The girl stirs as if in response to his words, her eyes remaining closed as she huddles into herself in an attempt to warm her body in the bitingly chilly atmosphere. There are no blankets, only the cold hard steel she lays upon.

"If she knew just how powerful she could be she'd have joined us willingly," his words are spoken with a hint of regret, "But some need a helping hand to open their mind up to the premise of the Brotherhood."

She twists again, letting out a groan of pain as he leans towards her, "I'll make you indestructible my dear. All it takes is a simple yet genius manipulation of your mutation."

Every part of her body is clad in dark clothing; only her pale facial skin is exposed, framed by her tumbling brunette locks. Two pure white tresses stand out strikingly against the deep brown waves and he reaches out to touch a platinum streak whispering, "You and I are connected. You were always destined to join me."

His eyes drop to the tattoo on his inner wrist, five permanent digits, weathered with time. Pain flinches visibly across his face at the constant reminder of his tormented past.

"The brotherhood will rise again," he remarks confidently, removing his hand and pulling down his sleeve roughly to cover the offending scar.

His words rouse the girl and her eyes flutter open, blinking as she adjusts to the brightness of the room. She's expressionless as her dark eyes fleet over her surroundings; the cold stone walls, the sparse pieces of steel furniture with their sharp glinting edges. Her eyes finally lock with Magneto's steely gaze and she takes a sharp intake of breath at the sight of him.

"Welcome to the Brotherhood Rogue."

* * *

"Welcome to the Brotherhood Rogue."  
_  
_His words are spoken with a drawl and seem to float towards me. I have no idea what that statement means, nor can I identify the silver-haired man towering over me. His face is etched with wisdom, each crease holding a secret; hinting at a harrowed past. I can see determination glinting beneath the surface of his steely eyes.

I search my mind for a spark of recognition, for something to explain my surroundings and I realise with a deep pang of terror that I don't know where I am or who this person is. Hell, I don't even know who I am. My mind scrambles with questions for which I have no answers, one screaming out above the rest: _Am I in danger?_

I certainly don't sense a threat; there's no malice in the air. The panic simmers as I ascertain my own immediate safety; common sense tells me if this man wanted to harm me, he'd have done so already.

My mouth is as dry as sandpaper and my first attempt to speak results in the words lodging in my throat. I swallow thickly and try again, eventually managing a raspy, "Who are you?"

"I'm Erik," he offers with a thin smile, "But you can call me Magneto."

Silence falls as I try desperately to connect his name to something familiar.

"Why am I here?" my words are etched with confusion.

"We saved you Rogue."

"Rogue?"

"That's your name my dear," and I don't miss the smile that hitches as he turns to someone else, a third person in the room, someone out of my line of sight. There's a dull ache in my head and I can't focus past the steely man.

Rogue. I repeat it over in my mind. Rogue. It feels comfortable and reassuring. As I hold onto that one positive feeling, I attempt to sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the solid metal frame, the movement causing my head to swim. I feel him watching over me as I remain still, allowing the wooziness to pass. As the room stops spinning, I glance down at myself, trying to piece together who I am, noting I'm fully clothed; even my hands are gloved. His words echo in my mind again, _"We saved you Rogue..."_

"Saved me from what?" I ask, my eyes snapping up to meet his.

"I rescued you from those trying to suppress your power. You are a mutant my dear, a powerful one."

Once again I feel a sense of acquaintance with this fact. It's as if the information is lodged deep within my subconscious, only surfacing through this man's words.

"I am going to liberate you Rogue, develop your skill and enhance it to the next level."

My mind is crowded with questions. Who was trying to suppress my power? Why would this man in front of me want to develop it? Why don't I remember? But the question that must be asked first is the most obvious, the one that reveals the most about my true identity…

"What is my mutation?"

"You are a leech," he answers cuttingly, without hesitation, "A parasite."

A parasite? Such an unpleasant label it causes a spark of anger to fizzle through my body. I welcome the sensation, glad to have an emotion to combat the emptiness.

"You temporarily absorb other mutant's life force, their powers, by the touch of your skin alone," he continues, as I glance down once again to my gloved hands, "But more than that, your touch weakens the receiver, rendering them useless. Rogue, my dear, you can kill if you maintain contact long enough."

I look to him in alarm. Kill? Am I a killer? It doesn't sit comfortably but I have no time to dwell on this as Magneto keeps on and I listen intently with a sense of desperation for his words, for information.

"Where others want to reduce the potency of your power, I have devised a way to intensify it. With the assistance of science I have calculated a means by which you can permanently retain the powers you steal. The mutations you soak up will no longer fade over time; they'll stay within you, allowing you to gain control of them, honing the power to your advantage." His voice is rising excitedly with each word, "And if my calculations are correct, there's no limit to how many mutations you can absorb."

He smiles in triumph, pausing to await my reaction as I try to come to terms with the information I am digesting. He continues regardless of my silence, his voice full of zeal.

"Rogue, can you imagine how powerful you will become? With an unlimited range of mutations you'll be invincible, fighting for our cause!"

My head races trying to make sense of it all, "What cause?"

"The brotherhood of mutants," he announces proudly.

I stare at him blankly.

He takes a deep breath before launching into an explanation, "Homosapians have no tolerance for our kind Rogue, for people like us. They want to control our fate and halt natural evolution. They've even given it a name; 'The Cure'." He pauses for effect before carrying on, "It's their ignorant attitude that causes people to suppress their mutation, leaving us with a sense of shame, a sense of ill-fitting."

Despite my lack of memories, I feel the truth of the prejudice he describes. There's no doubt in my mind that many mutants have experienced this discrimination and I feel a flare of outrage that anyone should feel like an outcast at the hands of others. Something tells me I've been on the receiving end myself…

"Rogue, if you want freedom for yourself and for all of mutant-kind, you have to fight for it, fight with the brotherhood! Because there's a war brewing!"

I feel a spark of passion ignite for this brotherhood and what it stands for. Of course I want to fight for my own kind! There is no doubt that I want to be on the side that stands up for mutant freedom and I'll battle proudly against those who try to suppress us. But more than that, this brotherhood gives me an immediate sense of belonging that I inexplicably crave, seeming to fill a void inside of me, giving me purpose.

I stand up, a little wobbly on my feet, and he reaches out to steady me, seeing my smile rising and my eyes glinting with pride.

"I knew you'd join us Rogue," he returns my smile before adding, "They have their so-called cure, and now we have ours. You; the brotherhood's weapon of choice. You'll stand strong, side-by-side with me. We are your team now, your family."

A surge of gratification rush through me and if it were possible for those words to solidify physically in front of me, I'd grasp onto them, hold them close and never let go…w_e are your team now, your family_…It's all I need to hear amidst my overwhelming sense of loss and confusion.

It's unclear whether Magneto appreciates the impact of his words as he continues, "Our first priority is to make you indestructible Rogue, only then can we build up all the other powers we deem relevant. You are my most precious associate and it is my priority to protect you."

My heart warms at his need to safeguard me.

"The first mutation you need to permanently absorb is that of invincibility, of never-ending regeneration. And that's the easy part. The one who holds that particular mutation is the unlikely hero who will no doubt be the first to seek you out. The animal that is the Wolverine."

_The Wolverine._ Something tightens inside me at hearing that name. I feel a profound wave of emotion rise warmly to the surface, oozing richly through my veins. I reach for the meaning of it inside my mind, imaginary fingers grasping out into the darkness. But the feeling disappears, whittling away before I can make sense of it.

The fleeting emotion must somehow be visible, whether it be through the flush of my skin or the uncontrollable dark flash of heat in my eyes.

Either way, Magneto sees it and immediately asks, "Do you recognise that name Rogue?" There is an unmistakable note of alarm in his voice that I choose to ignore. With no response to the question his voice hardens, "Do you remember the Wolverine?" he demands again.

Another wave of thick emotion rises upon the repeating of the name and I close my eyes in an attempt to focus on it, to try and understand it. But once again it vanishes, just as quickly as it emerged. I shake my head, indicating to Magneto that no, I do not remember. Whatever it has stirred in me I am unable to comprehend, powerless to make sense of it.

He turns to his companion, seemingly pleased with my response, "All is going to plan. We simply await his arrival, along with the rest of the X-entourage." He smiles to himself. "They'll all play their part in the Brotherhood uprising, each and every one of their powers being utilised, soaked in by the leech that is the Rogue. She will become the most powerful mutant ever known."

He turns to me again with fierce pride in his eyes, "You were a lost little girl with the X-men. Now, with the brotherhood, you will become a formidable and mighty force."

I stare up to him in awe, clinging to his every suggestion, absorbing his every word in an attempt to fill the bleakness inside me.

And that's when the realisation hits me; he's right; I am a parasite.

It's an uncomfortable admittance, yet I can't deny my need to soak in more information. There's a swarm of unanswered queries buzzing in my mind and I take advantage of his brief silence, hastily spilling out a torrent of questions.

"Why can't I remember anything Magneto? And how is it that you know how to enhance my mutation? And who are the X-men and what do they stand for?"

I could go on but he's looking at me intently with a thin smile, "All in good time my dear…" he starts, but his smile drops abruptly, his words stopping mid-sentence as he swoops to the floor to pick up something I hadn't noticed before now; a helmet, which he places swiftly onto his head. It's slick and metallic-black with the slightest shimmer of red hinting beneath the surface. It fits him perfectly.

"I can feel Xavier through Cerebro," he taps his helmet knowingly, "The X-men are already searching for you my dear."

A rush of panic zips through my veins and I look to this man, someone I hardly know, for reassurance.

"Have no fear Rogue," his eyes lock onto mine, "I'll take care of you."

"You promise?" The question tumbles out of my mouth without thought.

"Yes, I promise."

And with those words, my connection with this man is sealed. He answers with such certainty and I can see it in his eyes, he will take care of me. Whether that is for the sake of the brotherhood or for the sake of me as an individual, I don't know. But for now, I don't care.

I feel safe, I feel a sense of belonging and I know without any doubt that I am on the right side.

I, the Rogue, the parasite, belong with the brotherhood of mutants.


	2. Setting The Mould

Cerebro: An extension of my mutation, a machine that has become an integral part of my being. I wouldn't be Xavier without it; since it's creation we've been connected, Cerebro enhancing my telepathy, enabling me to search for my target over immense distances like a heat-seeking missile.

As I'm guided to Rogue I can't shake the deep feeling of dread, a sense I've not felt since the events of Liberty Island. It disturbs me more than I'd openly admit that my old companion was willing to go as far as murder for the sake of the brotherhood. And as I dwell on that thought I'm not surprised to find myself, telepathically speaking, in Magneto's lair. I'm well aware he's been keeping a low profile in recent months. I should have guessed something was brewing…

I'm invisible to the individuals in the stark room, only mentally present, a reach away from Rogue and yet unable to communicate with her. She's unsteady on her feet, looking pale, confused and heart-wrenchingly vulnerable. A swell of anger rises up inside me, directed towards Magneto. My only aim is to keep the pupils of my school safe from harm and yet once again Erik has managed to snatch Rogue from our grasp, from within the walls of my institute.

I can't read Rogue's mind from this distance, the level of concentration needed to do so could kill her, or at the very least permanently damage her. Even so, I expect to pick up some weak threads of thought and I fail to understand why there's only a strange emptiness emitting from her, almost like her mind is muted.

Magneto stands tall next to her, although his body language is not menacing and she certainly doesn't appear to feel threatened. Indeed, they seem to be holding a rather civil conversation, mores the pity that I can't hear their words. I attempt to slip into Erik's mind but he senses me, one of the few who can, and he immediately places his helmet on, creating an impenetrable block on my telepathy.

_What are you up to old friend?_

I linger a few more minutes, but being unable to read Rogue's thoughts and blocked forcefully from Magneto's, there's little else I can establish. Cerebro senses my signal of closure, the scene blackening out as my mind withdraws, causing the curved metal plates that make up the walls of Cerebro to fall uniformly back into place.

Jean is outside, pacing up and down, filled with anxiety as she awaits my findings.

Further away I sense Logan's frenzy hitting me with force as he powers along the corridor. He's defiant at the best of times, but when he's angry, he's a law unto himself. I know he's aware of her absence, I perceive that amidst his anguish. His heightened senses must have picked up on a lack of her scent.

I glide to the door and it opens smoothly just as Logan appears around the corner, his eyes blazing, his voice demanding.

"Where is she?"

I take a deep breath, if only to brace myself for Logan's reaction, "She's with Magneto."

He stops dead in his tracks and I sense the rage pounding off him in waves.

"What the hell...?"

"She was with me," Jean volunteers weakly.

Logan turns to her, his eyes searing into hers, "How could you let this happen Jean?"

Jean's body language tells me how distraught she is, her eyes barely meeting mine, the tears welling at Logan's harsh words.

"Calm down Logan!" I raise my voice, a rarity for me, "This isn't Jean's fault."

"I don't know what happened," Jean starts, her voice faltering with distress, "One minute I was in the med-lab with Rogue, next minute I'd blacked out on the floor. When I came round, she was gone."

Logan's temper rises as his eyes lock with Jeans, his words spoken through gritted teeth, "So you're telling me that with all the apparent telepathy you possess, you were unable to sense anyone coming? This is fucking unbelievable!"

Jean stiffens, retorting defensively, "If you're looking for someone to blame Logan, where were you when this happened? Weren't you the one who promised to protect her?"

Logan flinches at her words and I know he's already blaming himself. He doesn't have to hear Jean's words to needlessly take on the immense weight of guilt that's sitting on his shoulders. I've always sensed his overpowering need to protect her, even to the extent of giving his own life…

"Settle this you two," I swiftly interrupt, "Your bickering will not help find Rogue."

They glare at each other but take heed of my words, a tense silence ensuing.

"I've tracked her through Cerebro," I start, ignoring Logan's need to pace back and forth angrily, "I don't know what Erik is up to but I know where she is." I turn to Jean, "Find Scott and Storm and tell them to suit up. We'll group on the jet for a debrief in fifteen minutes."

Jean swiftly departs as Logan snorts at the 'suit up' suggestion, "I'm fine in what I'm wearing Chuck."

I don't hesitate in my response, "You are not coming Logan."

He stops abruptly, mid-pace, disbelief in his eyes, "What?"

"Against Magneto you are nothing but a liability. With his control of metal you will only be a hindrance to this mission."

Even as I say the words I know he won't accept them and his refusal to concur with my decision comes as no surprise.

"If you think I'm staying here to baby-sit you can think again. I'm coming. She needs me."

I sigh heavily knowing that Logan will find his way to Rogue by any means necessary, with or without us.

"Fine. Meet us on the jet."

He nods in acknowledgment, turning away, before I add, "And Logan…"

He looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow to me in response.

"If you're part of this mission, you _will_ suit up."

He rolls his eyes before striding away, muttering a reluctant note of agreement.

* * *

Everything is falling into place, surpassing even my own expectations. I look to the innocent girl in front of me, wide-eyed as she soaks in my every word. She has the perfect traits for me to imprint my visions onto her; naïve and all-trusting. The longer she is in my presence, the more I influence her in the ways of the brotherhood. I can mould her into whatever shape I require.

Despite my success, I feel a persistent gnawing of unease at the Wolverine's impending arrival. The mutant is no match for me of course, his adamantium-laced body ensures that, however the interaction between he and Rogue and what it could stir up is a concern. I couldn't miss her reaction at the mention of his name earlier; it was the slightest of signals, her pupils dilating and the flush of her skin. If their relationship runs deep enough that even hearing his name brings about those unconscious responses, their meeting could be dangerous. Yet she needs his mutation, and not only for his regenerative power. Little does she know that I have an ulterior motive for her gaining the Wolverine's abilities…

She interrupts my thoughts, blinking up at me with yet another question.

"What do the X-men stand for if not for the brotherhood? I can't understand why any mutant would not be on our side."

I smile, once again congratulating myself on how I've turned her to my way of thinking in such a short space of time.

"The X-men believe mutants and mankind can live side by side in peace. But time has proved this to be a fallacy my dear. Homosapians want to introduce mutant registration and now this so-called 'cure'."

My blood boils to think about it, re-confirming my belief in the brotherhood's cause.

"I maintain there is a war brewing Rogue, yet the X-men refuse to accept this fact. Time will prove me right and when it begins, the brotherhood will be ready. We simply can't fail now that we have you."

She smiles and I see pride gushing through her. A parasite she may be, but she's powerful, willing and one who fights on our side. She is my greatest creation and through her, the brotherhood will triumph.

A brief silence settles as she looks at her hands thoughtfully. I watch her intently as she peels off a glove, laying it carefully over her knee before studying the pale skin of her hand.

"How are you able to enhance my mutation?"

I knew this question would come eventually and I need to handle my response carefully. I'm unsure how she will react to the grim truth of the adaptation.

"Your skin is powerful Rogue; there is no doubt about that. But touch alone does not result in a permanent retention of powers. Through a series of tests I have discovered a way in which you can possess the power indefinitely."

She looks to me with inquisitive eyes, never flinching as she waits for me to continue.

"By acquiring the mutation at a deeper level rather than just through the surface of your skin, it changes the nature of your parasitic abilities," I fix my eyes on hers as I reveal the conditions of the enhancement, "Rogue, if the blood of another mutant is injected directly into your veins, your red blood cells regenerate the 'alien' cells along with your own, thus allowing you to retain their power indefinitely. It's a simple idea, yet so effective."

She considers my theory, seeming neither disturbed nor troubled over the concept. Maybe she does have a hardened streak in her after all, and wouldn't that just be perfect…

"How do you know it'll work?"

I smile darkly at her question, "My dear, let's just say I have assistance in places they'd never expect. It will work, trust me."

I can tell by her wide unblinking eyes that she believes in me. What choice does she have? After all, I am all she knows, her only ally, her protector.

"Are there any side effects?" she asks unexpectedly.

"No my dear, it is perfectly safe."

And that's a lie. I have no idea if there are any side effects, but I refuse to give her any reason to waiver. This is for the sake of the brotherhood and it is imperative the plan goes ahead.

"The Wolverine will arrive shortly, allowing us to put the theory into practice."

I see that clear ripple of dark emotion fleet through Rogue once again upon hearing his name. Unfortunately, her being face-to-face with the Wolverine is something I can't avoid. Tests have confirmed that the one fact I must adhere to is the blood must be fresh and warm, transferring directly from mutant to mutant.

"Do I know this Wolverine?" she asks, a clear hesitation in her voice, as if fearful of my answer.

"Yes my dear, you know him. Do you recall that you endeavored to give your life for the brotherhood only a few months ago, on Liberty Island?"

She doesn't need to know that is wasn't by her own free will…

I see her brow furrow as she searches her mind and a sense of relief washes over me when she shakes her head to indicate no recollection. She truly has lost every memory if she can't recall such a traumatic event. Maybe her interaction with the Wolverine will not risk stirring her memories after all.

"What happened on Liberty Island?" she asks, carefully placing her glove back on.

"The Wolverine is what happened. He interfered, preventing you and I from revolutionizing mankind, making them one with the brotherhood."

I take a breath to calm the swell of anger that rises at the memories and that's when I sense the change in the metallic densities around me. It's the slightest shift in the distribution of compounds. I'd know that adamantium from a mile away…

"He is here," I announce.

A momentary rush of panic flickers through her eyes and she swallows heavily. I grasp her gently by the shoulders, turning her to face me squarely. I need her to truly take heed of my next words.

"Listen to me Rogue; the X-men don't play by our rules. They will try anything to get you onto their side, from the plain brutal to devious mind tricks. Just remember one thing; don't believe anything they say."

She nods, a rapid movement full of certainty, stating without any doubt in her words, "I'm on the right side. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

My claws itch to extract as I make my way through the dark stony corridor, my senses on high alert, leading me to Rogue. I know the X-men will be cursing me for slipping away unnoticed. They were dragging this whole thing out with their meticulous planning, parking the jet nigh-on miles away so Magneto wouldn't detect it, pouring over some blue prints and discussing pointless time-wasting tactics. Fuck tactics!

I know Magneto will pin me up, but at least the geeks will have no choice but to come running and it'll speed this whole thing up. I need to get Rogue out of there as quickly as possible; it's my only objective. I'm forever haunted with the memories of how that metal-man nearly killed her on Liberty Island and I swore I'd never let her be in that position again. Yet here we are…

My plan is simple: Find her, do some damage to Magneto for good measure and get her the hell out of there.

The other X-men will have to follow my lead. She's mine to protect, no one else's.

Or so I thought.


	3. My Name Is Rogue

This chapter is a little 'icky' so be warned. I've decided not to analyse the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. :-)

Huge thanks to moviemom44 for encouraging me onwards with this. You are great! x

* * *

I brace myself mentally for the entrance of the Wolverine; aware that hearing his name alone causes such a surge of emotion inside me. I can hear his heavy footsteps approaching and Magneto sees me tensing, my shoulders hunching with apprehension.

"Rogue," he states with certainty, "Have no fear, the mongrel is fully under my control."

As if to prove his point he raises his hand and I immediately sense the change in pace of the Wolverine's approach, the footsteps turning into a continuous drag under Magneto's majestic hand movements.

"His bones are lined with metal," he offers to me in brief explanation, "And all metal belongs to me."

With the slightest maneuver of his fingers, Magneto hauls our guest into the room by an invisible force, the Wolverine's feet scrapping heavily along the steely floor, his leather-clad back to me. Even from behind I sense the wildness of him, it's not just his hair; dark and untamed, it's in the atmosphere surrounding him.

As Magneto spins him round with a fleeting twist of his wrist, the Wolverine's eyes snap immediately to mine and his intense gaze causes a swell of emotion to rise up within me, so forceful is the rush that my legs start to give way and I reach out to steady myself, eventually stumbling into the nearest chair. Magneto misses my reaction, his focus fully on the man he controls, raising him in the air and eventually slamming him roughly with a sickening thud into the steel chair opposite me, only feet away.

I can't take my eyes off him. He's feral, savage, dark as night with powerful muscles bulging beneath his leather suit. I feel drawn to him; it's a connection I can't explain and it confuses me.

His hazel eyes stare intensely into mine through his dark lashes and there's a heat of fierce determination blazing from them.

"Are you alright?" he growls to me from the chair he's pinned into, seemingly unconcerned with his own predicament.

I don't answer; I can only stare at him, my eyes unblinking as I attempt to make sense of the emotions flooding through me.

"Kid, are you alright?" he demands again, a note of desperation in his voice.

The term _kid_ causes my heart to tighten and I still don't answer him. The truth is I don't know if I am all right. Apart from the dull ache in my head, physically I'm okay. But emotionally I'm spinning from his immense presence.

I look across to Magneto standing several paces to my left, searching for a sense of calmness from him and he offers me a reassuring nod, one I gladly welcome. He is all I know and I feel safe with him; my protector.

"Marie," the feral says, his eyes still on mine.

A thick wave of confusion sweeps through me and my eyes snap back to his. _Marie?_ That name brings a strange sense of home, but alongside that a conflicting pang of pain.

"Her name is Rogue," Magneto spits out with words full of venom.

The Wolverine darts a look of fierce anger towards Magneto before he speaks again, leaning towards me to close the gap between us.

"Marie, look at me."

"Do you see Rogue?" Magneto cuts off his words aggressively, "How he dismisses your mutation, your very essence, by insisting on addressing you with something other than your mutant name?"

I understand with absolute clarity that Magneto is right; this man spurns my parasitic powers. He's just one of those who wishes to inflict a sense of shame upon mutants.

With this assumption firmly lodged into my mind I lean forward, closing the gap between us further until he is almost in reaching distance. My words are full of bitter determination.

"My name is Rogue."

He flinches back as if I have inflicted physical pain, his eyes clouding over in what I can only interpret as hurt.

There's a silence as he considers my words, his eyes searching mine.

"Darlin'," he says quietly, the anger seems to be stunned from him, only sorrow in his words, "What has he done to you?"

All I hear is this new term of endearment, once again causing my heart to grip, to almost stop mid-beat. _Darling?_ Just what is the nature of my relationship with this man?

"You need to get out of here," he interrupts my thoughts, indicating to the open door with a nod. There's a sense of desperation in his words and his eyes are pleading, "Run."

Magneto laughs vehemently and I can sense he's enjoying the scene playing out in front of him.

"My dear boy," he says through a wicked grin, "Do you think I am holding her against her will?"

The feral stares at me awaiting my response…

"Wolverine? Is that your name?" I ask.

His eyes flare angrily at my words and without answering me he redirects his gaze to Magneto.

"What the hell have you done to her you sonofabitch?"

"Why would I run Wolverine?" I continue, ignoring his question to Magneto.

His eyes swerve back to mine, locking onto me with a hard stare.

"My name is Logan," he answers through gritted teeth, fury cutting into each word.

Lo_gan?_ That name causes my mind to race, searching for a connection, for something to relate it to. I work hard to press down the uprising emotion and continue regardless.

"I'm where I belong," I state firmly, if only to convince myself as I fight my inner turmoil, "With the Brotherhood."

Magneto beams with pride as he announces, "Enough talk. It's time to start this."

He reaches inside his cape, bringing out a steel needle and holding it up like a trophy as it glints under the cold white lights. With the smallest of movements, almost invisible, the needle is driven through the air, floating gracefully towards the Wolverine whose arm is directed palm up by a single twist of Magneto's wrist. I can see the feral's struggle, although he's only able to move by the smallest degree under Magneto's invisible grip. His eyes widening in fear as he stares at the needle coming towards him.

"Is the mighty Wolverine afraid of a tiny pin prick?" Magneto asks, his voice drenched with sarcasm.

"What the hell do you want with me?" he asks, his voice strained, his narrowed eyes on the needle that hovers within millimeters of his vein.

"Once again you think it's all about you Wolverine," Magneto answers.

The feral's eyes turn to meet mine and there's no mistaking the panic that flashes through them. He opens his mouth to speak but his words are cut off as the needle plunges into his vein and he hisses against the rough violation.

As blood is drawn thickly from him my eyes are on the vile as it slowly fills, the Wolverine blazing with rage at the intrusion, his brow knitted deeply. I feel the heat of fury pounding off him, the strain in his face showing, yet he is powerless against the forces Magneto holds over him.

The deep red liquid ebbs in the vile, seeming to bubble with energy. Without warning Magneto pulls the needle out with a single yank and the feral growls against the pain. The incision in his skin immediately heals itself, only a dribble of blood left as evidence of what has just taken place and my eyes widen at the sight, my reaction closely observed by Magneto.

"That power will become yours Rogue," he smiles.

The feral's brow furrows deeply at Magneto's words.

"What the hell…?" he growls, his words laced with confusion.

His question goes unanswered as the blood-filled needle floats through the air and back across to Magneto who catches it smoothly and strides over to me.

"Remove your glove and roll up your sleeve Rogue," he instructs.

"No!" the Wolverine shouts, "Don't do this!"

Despite the feral's protests I do as I am instructed without hesitation, knowing this is for the Brotherhood and for the sake of all mutants.

Magnetos grips my arm, twisting it so it's palm up, the bright blue veins on the underside of my elbow standing out clearly as he brings the needle to my arm. The feral's eyes are burning into Magneto's.

"You sick sonofabitch!"

I squeeze my eyes shut as the needle breaks through my delicate skin and I suck in a wheeze of air at the sting of concentrated pain. The pressure throbs as the plunger is pressed forcefully, driving the thick blood into my vein. The feral's continued curses fade into the distance as I feel the warmth of his highly energized power creeping up my arm, slowly at first, then increasing in speed.

The darkness of him spreads through me and my temperature rises with the sheer power. As my eyes snap open the room begins to spin and I'm losing focus with the enormity of the energy surging through me. My whole body begins to convulse violently as the blood reaches my heart and I'm falling; my head swimming as I seem to turn to liquid, slumping forwards off the chair with complete loss of control. The last thing I hear before I pass into an unconscious heap on the cold floor is his voice; the feral's voice:

"Marie…NO!"


	4. It's Blissful

I had to go where the writing was taking me. And yes, it's peddling me down a grim path…be warned!

:-)

* * *

Consciousness creeps back towards me and as it does, the first sense I'm aware of is him; the feral. His essence pumps through my veins, wild and wanting, desperately hunting, yet I can't understand what he is searching for. His darkness swirls around my body; black in every sense of the word. Thick waves of his traits wash over me; brutality, rebellion and a gripping streak of suppressed anger. I search for his heart in the hope of grasping onto something more tranquil but it's hidden away, buried too deeply for me to unearth.

As I open my eyes the realisation hits that in my unconscious state I've been moved into a small stark room, the only furniture within it being the rigid bed I lay upon. There's a sink to my right, almost in reach, with a dim flickering strip light above it, the plastic casing tinged yellow with the build up of grime. It's the only source of light, there are no windows and the air is stale. This room screams of depression.

I sit up slowly and the flimsy bed frame groans with my movements as the coarse bedsprings dig painfully through my clothes and into my skin. Glancing down to the site of the injection in my arm I notice there's not a single scratch or bruise, despite the roughness with which it was delivered. It's as if it never happened and yet I know it did; the creature pacing up and down in my mind is all the evidence I need. The constant dull ache in my head has also gone and I guess I have to thank the Wolverine's mutation for that blessing.

Swinging my feet to the floor and finding my balance I trudge to the mirror, wiping the smeared glass with a gloved hand so I can see myself in the dim light. It has only just occurred to me that I don't know what I look like and as I take in my reflection I am surprised. I was expecting an older face than the one that stares back at me; instead I see a youthful innocent girl, pale skin and dark hair with striking white tresses framing my face. I reach up to touch a platinum streak and I know with certainty there's a story behind my unusual hair, but one my mind can't recall. My eyes are dark, yet something tells me having the Wolverine's blood pumping through my veins has darkened them more than nature intended. They glint back at me, almost black; hinting at the power I have stolen.

_Who am I?_

I consider the events that have taken place so far, trying to make sense of it all and as I do so, something catches my eye in the gloomy light, a glint of metal hanging around my neck. Reaching for the steel chain I pull it up from beneath my clothes and I immediately recognise what they are; identity tags.

_Doesn't that mean you were in the army?_

It's so strange that I wear these. I look too young to be in the military and I certainly don't have the physical build for it. I pull them up over my head to take a closer look, staring down at the object in my palm, brushing my thumb over the number engraved into the dull metal:

458 25 243

As my eyes fall upon the engraving directly beneath the digits my heart stops mid-beat; the name etched into the tags screeching out to me:

WOLVERINE

I can't breathe…

My eyes snap up to meet my own reflection and I search into them through the smeared mirror desperately trying to find an explanation. Why would I be wearing his army tags?

Once again I question the nature of my relationship with this feral; the mutant whose power now lurks beneath my skin; the man I can feel burning inside of me, creeping through my veins.

The term of endearment he used towards me rings through my head…

"_Darlin'."_

And I'm wearing his tags! What the hell does that mean? What the fuck have I done?

My reflection distorts out of focus as panic overtakes me and I have to hold onto the sink with both hands until a wave of nausea passes.

I thrust the tags deep into my pocket as if hiding them out of sight will erase their significance. I can barely look at my own reflection I am so troubled and disgusted with the implications of my actions and my eyes drop down heavily from the mirror, glancing over the various grime-covered items lying haphazardly around the edge of the sink. A slimy worn-down soap, a filthy face cloth, an old toothbrush with chaotic bristles…and then my eyes fall upon the rusty razor.

I pick up the blade carefully between my gloved finger and thumb, considering the object intensely. My head is in turmoil with the confusion rushing through me and I only have one thought; I need to release this emotion. I need to release the pain because I have no idea who I am, why I'm here and what the hell I have done.

I tilt the razor back and forth so it glints under the sickly light; winking; daring me…

I stare at my own reflection, coldness glazing over my dark unblinking eyes as I raise the blade to my face, placing the razor edge to the high of my cheekbone, holding it there for a second before I start to press…

I hold my breath as the thin layer of skin begins to bulge up around the blade and I wait for the blood, the release, as I apply increased pressure. It seems to take an agonising over-stretched second for the skin to split, and with it comes sharp pain, stinging and intense, it's all I can focus on as I suck in a thin hiss of air. Blood oozes up and grips thickly to the rim of the blade before forming into fat drops and finally finding the gravity to trickle down like dark tears.

The pain intensifies as I drag the blade downwards, the stretched skin pulling my eye into an evil slant as a raw slash emerges behind the blade's path. Blood runs freely now, dripping heavily into the sink below. My new heightened sense of smell, courtesy of the Wolverine, picks up the potent scent of coppery blood. I can almost taste it.

And just for those few precious seconds, all I can feel is the pain and nothing else. No confusion, no thoughts of the feral, no consideration for the Brotherhood or Magneto.

It's blissful. This intense self-inflicted pain is the one thing I know to be true.

It's me, the Rogue, the Parasite.

I drop the rusty blade into the sink, savouring my black thoughts whilst staring at the gash in my face, numb to the horror of what I've just done. As I look on, the injury knits rapidly back together before my eyes, my skin hooking into itself and entwining in a zip-like motion. It's a surreal sight.

The pain fades all too rapidly and I'm left with nothing, not even a scar. And with that, the screaming chaos in my mind returns…

With a sense of disgust at my actions I smear away the remnants of blood from my face with the grimy cloth and my eyes search once again into my own face through the mirror.

I realise that with this power I am invincible, just as the Wolverine is invincible. The question is do I want the gift of indestructibility? And what am I required to do with this newfound power?

All I feel is a sense of emptiness, severe confusion and a constant drilling anger. And I can't work out which of these feelings are my own and which are the influence of the Wolverine.

His words ring unexpectedly in my head, _"My__ name is Logan."_

The tags seem to weigh heavy in my pocket, yet despite the undeniable evidence of my connection to the feral, I still can't understand why I would choose to go in his direction and not Magneto's. I am a mutant. Isn't it natural that I would fight for the mutant cause?

Yet I'm conflicted by the profound sense of kindred I feel for the Wolverine, a dark and deeply rooted bond.

I glance down at the bloodied sink and as I do so my senses prick upon hearing the feral's muffled voice through the thick walls. I can't make out his words, only his tone, full of fury, arguing with Magneto I assume. Do I hear him due to my newly enhanced senses? Or is it because my connection with him is so intimate, given that his essence is crawling through my blood?

I don't know the answer, but either way, it's time to face this. It's time to numb the confusion for good, not just temporarily with the misguided use of a razor blade.

Taking a deep breath I turn to the door, my intent to find the Wolverine; to find Logan. For the sake of my sanity I need to know the truth…

* * *

Don't try the razor trick at home folks. That includes anyone who is lucky enough to absorb Wolvie's healing power. :-)


	5. Labyrinth

Hello! I know I've left this story gathering dust for far too long (three months – eek!), but I'm back and I hope I still have some readers out there?

The last chapter was somewhat dark but I'm about to lighten it up a notch (just a small notch mind!). I hope you like it…

* * *

I wind down another desolate corridor following an unexplained draw that I know will lead me to the Wolverine. The walls are stone gray and barren, lit by cold fluorescents that flicker and blink in the ghostly quiet. I realise with a grave heart that this maze of corridors represents my mind right now; a never-ending labyrinth of emptiness, void of the memories that make me who I am, vacant of any clues to my past.

Silence echoes all around me, the feral's shouts are no more, and for a fleeting moment I fear Magneto has killed him, murdered him in cold blood now that the task of transferring his powers to me is complete.

And why does that thought rip at my emotions?

Yet I quash the concept as quickly as it rises. Once again, the 'whys' and 'how's' are a mystery, but I _feel_ the Wolverine, his life energy, fizzling somewhere within this soulless building, somehow connecting us.

I can't shake the clinging disgust I have with myself for allowing Magneto to perform that sickening shift of power without question. It sticks to me like a cold layer of slime. And how could I cut myself so numbly? Why was I undisturbed by the horror of it? And yet I know the answer; I'm in disarray, confused and afraid. This lost, desperate shell of a girl is not my true self.

So who the hell am I?

Senses beyond my understanding lead me at right angles along another corridor identical to the last and something pricks into the monotony of my surroundings; a voice. I spin round in a low state of terror but there is no one here, my sight and newly acquired heightened sense of smell confirms that. Yet I hear it again, tinkering so quietly I can't make out the words. And then it dawns on me…that voice is inside my head.

The thought dries out the moisture in my mouth and I dismiss it in panic; refusing to hear it, fearing I'm going insane. But the tones melt to the forefront of my mind; warm and soothing. And God knows I need something, anything, even if it's an imaginary voice. So I stop fighting it, allowing its sweet tones to crisp into audible words. It's a motherly voice, placid and gentle, speaking in a hushed whisper:

_Trust your instinct Rogue._

Perhaps it is my mother? I wonder what she is like?

I strain through the silence hoping to hear that comforting voice once more, but it dissolves away so rapidly that I question if it was really there at all? Maybe I'm losing my mind? I feel a wry smile rise at that thought, after all, I don't have a mind to lose, only lonely pathways, stripped bare where memories once were.

Yet I have my name: Rogue. That I believe in. And the one piece of physical evidence I hold; those identity tags. Instinctively my fingers reach to my pocket and there's a rising swell of reassurance when I feel them lodged there securely.

What secrets do they hold?

Turning another meaningless corner I see a sturdy door with no markings to indicate what is behind it, only a stir within my blood informs me of the Wolverine's presence beyond. And he senses me too; evident as he says my name when I swing the door open, spoken before I'm in his line of sight, not a question but a statement:

"Rogue."

As I step into the room it takes a fraction of a second to realise this is where it all started, where my memories began. The feral sits in the same chair with its sharp awkward corners, clearly trapped there under Magneto's spell, yet I'm acutely aware we are the only two here.

"Erik?" I question, my eyes darting around the bare room, my voice thin and uncertain. I need to know his whereabouts, still drawn to him as a protector, although I admit this has weakened somewhat.

"Rogue," the Wolverine repeats my name, staring intently at me, "Are you all right?"

"Where's Erik?" I demand, stronger now, frustrated at my inability to hide the urgency of my words.

The feral's dark eyes narrow, glinting with anger and something else I can't interpret behind the black shadows of his thoughts.

"He detected the other X-men," he offers in blunt explanation, "He's gone after them."

Maybe I should feel unnerved to find myself alone with the wild Wolverine, someone whose strength and sheer size would overpower me immediately and on every level. Yet I feel inexplicably at ease.

But he's barely able to move and I conclude that Erik is protecting me from afar. Yeah, that surely explains my ease…

He interrupts my thoughts with guttural determination in his voice, "You gotta' get out of here."

"No!" my answer is blunt and decisive. "I need you to answer some questions, then I'll decide whether to stay or go."

His eyes dart wildly to the open door behind me but he says nothing in protest. I remain standing, holding his gaze as I reach into my pocket and pull out the tags, the chain dangling heavily from my finger tips, winking in the anemic light.

"These are yours."

He nods in acknowledgement with no sense of surprise that they are in my possession.

"So why do I have them?"

His gaze falters with the slightest downwards movement, so fleeting it would have been missed if I had blinked at that exact moment.

"I gave them to you."

"Why?" I challenge, noticing the deep twang of my accent for the first time.

He shifts uncomfortably.

"Look, there's no time for this. Magneto will be back any minute and …"

"Damnit Wolverine!" I cut in before he can finish his sentence, desperate for answers, "What is my relationship with you?"

An uneasy silence hangs above us like a storm cloud and the seconds drag on as my eyes burn into his with intense determination.

"Tell me!" I'm yelling now, almost hysterically.

His answer spits back through angry gritted teeth and I know I've forced his hand.

"Hell Marie, I DON'T KNOW and this AIN'T the fucking time to work it out!"

I have no idea what he reads in my eyes at his outburst – shock? confusion? – but he takes a deep calming breath before adding, "Look, it's…complicated."

And the labyrinth grows another corridor, stretching on indefinitely, muted and gray with no signs to indicate which way to turn…

"How old am I?" my question is asked with clipped words, trying another approach in order to gain the information he seems unwilling to give.

"Just turned eighteen," his voice is tight but calmer now, "Last week."

"And you Logan? How old are you?"

"I don't know."

There's a frank truth in his voice and although I don't fully understand my new powers, I interpret honesty in his scent. At least, I think I do. Yet I can't believe he wouldn't know his own age.

"You don't know how old you are?" I ask incredulously.

"I lost my memory some time ago, just like you have today," he looks at me with such affection that I find myself holding my breath, "Kid, I'm the only one who understands what you're going through right now."

We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity before I remember there was a reason behind my questioning and I snap back to my point.

"Okay, so lets assume you're forty."

"Well darlin'," he responds with an easy smile, "I'd put it closer to thirty-five."

That grin, along with the stirring term of endearment – darlin' – causes a searing heat to ripple through me, so potent and potentially dangerous that I fight fiercely to prevent it bubbling any closer to the surface.

"Either way," I continue, silently cursing myself for allowing those emotions to creep up on me so unexpectedly, "that's one hell of an age gap, don't you think?"

He opens his mouth to answer but stops himself, seeming to think better of his initial reaction, eventually responding, "Like I said, it's complicated."

Annoyance froths my blood at his riddling answers, but a brassy clash of metal cuts into the room from some distance away, startling me and causing a visible shift of gear in the Wolverine.

"Marie…" he starts.

"Rogue," I cut in, "My name is Rogue."

"Fine," he answers, his jaw clenched, "Rogue. You gotta' get out of here. You can spend all the time in the world analysing our relationship, but what you really need to ask yourself is what Magneto wants with you."

Without warning, three metal blades rupture through the knuckles of the Wolverine's right hand causing me to reel backwards, although I immediately recognise - through his scent? - there is no threat to me. I can't take my saucer-like eyes off those three savage claws, flashing icily and amplifying the wildness of this feral.

"Magneto is planning on lining your bones with metal in a barbaric procedure that I once experienced. That's why he transferred my healing power to you first, so you could withstand the extreme operation."

My empty stomach does a slow forward roll as I digest his words.

"Why would he do such a thing?" My eyes remain glued to the blades as I speak.

"So he can always control you," he answers with certainty, "Metal belongs to him. Look at me, I can't move from this damn chair and Magneto isn't even in hearing distance."

I blink silently as I soak in his words and he continues, the claws gliding out of sight and causing my eyes to flicker back to his, "Rogue, as you absorb more powers you will become mightier than any mutant on this earth. Invincible. Magneto needs to retain the ability to control you, to keep you under his command within the Brotherhood. He'll achieve this by smelting metal to your bones."

"How do you know all this?" my voice wobbles, despite my efforts to hide the biting fear.

"Magneto revealed his sick plans to me while you were out cold."

I snort in disbelief, "Why would Erik share this information with _you_?"

"I don't know," he shrugs in response, "Because he's a madman? Because he guessed you wouldn't believe me even if I had the chance to tell you? Maybe because he knew the knowledge of what he plans to do to you would destroy me…"

His voice fades away, but I'm too frantic to understand the significance of his last sentence. My thoughts race around my mind's labyrinth, desperately scrambling to make sense of all this.

Magneto wouldn't do that. Would he?

"Kid, listen to me," Logan's eyes are pleading, "I want you to trust me, but if you can't do that, don't trust that metal freak sonofabitch either. Just get out of here. Never, ever put yourself through the hellish operation I had to endure."

His eyes are haunted, the harrowing experience somehow reflected through them and it brushes me with the cold fingertips of dread.

And then he says something that rings with frightening déjà vu:

"Trust your instinct Rogue."

Those words seem to suspend themselves in the air, vibrating strangely off the walls.

"Do you know my mother?" I ask.

He doesn't answer, only furrows his brow deeply and looks at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have?

_Trust your instinct._

The words continues to echo around the hollow corridors of my mind and I reach for them, feel them, and my confidence billows as the decision finds me with surprising ease and clarity.

"I'm staying," I announce with certainty.

"What?" he growls, rage flashing through the Wolverine's fierce stare. I shrug casually, confident with my decision, spinning away from him with a sharp flick of my hair.

"Marie!" he roars into the back of my head, "You have to leave!"

I turn back to face him.

"Logan, if the Brotherhood is where I belong, then staying here is my only option. But if I should be with you, no matter how _complicated_ that may be, then I am not going to leave you behind. We stick together, right?"

My logic has stunned him.

"Trust my instinct, that's what you said and I'm certain that's what my mother would say. And my instinct tells me to stay, for now at least, until I decide. You, Magneto or do it alone."

"Rogue," his response is strangled and full of pain, "Don't you understand? He'll hurt you. Harm you beyond repair."

"And if that's so, I'll heal. I have your regenerative power, remember?"

"It's a curse," he mutters, defeat clouding his eyes as he realises my decision is made.

Another clash of metal resounds from the distance and I know I have to leave this room. I don't want Erik aware of my interaction with the Wolverine or the new information I am armed with.

"If Magneto finds these on me," I indicate towards the tags in my open palm as I stride towards Logan, "He'll take them. They're safer with you."

I lean in to hang them round his neck and as I do, he grasps my gloved hand, drawing me so close to him that all I can see is the inky blackness of his eyes. So intimately close that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, in such contrast to the chill that surrounds us. He's trying to find words and I wait as patiently as I can for them to surface but the atmosphere is so thick in the slither of air between us that I'm struggling to breath and whatever he wants to say remains lodged in his throat.

And that's when I do something so impulsive I shock even myself. I press my lips to his, so gently, so chaste, that it could almost be interpreted as platonic.

Almost.

Only we linger there one second…two seconds too long…and his warm lips begin to open with mine, his head twisting to deepen this kiss. It's only as the cursed parasitic effects of my mutation begins to threaten and start to take over that I pull away with a sharp intake of breath. But not before I see his eyes flashing with hot fire.

I leave the room without so much as a glance back, the sweet tingling sensation on my lips the only evidence of what has just taken place.

Maybe I should be asking myself why the hell I just did that? Or perhaps I should be berating myself for such a reckless and unguarded move?

But I have only one thought: _That wasn't so complicated, was it?_

* * *

I promise you won't have to wait too long for the next chapter (certainly not three months anyway!). :-)


	6. Nothing to lose?

Okay, so this chapter dips down into some murky darkness. You have to go where the writing takes you, right? What can I say other than I'd had a particularly bad day in work when I drafted this? :-)

More importantly, huge warm thanks to Wolverette and Moviemom44. You know why. X

* * *

Pain. It engulfs me, stabs me with fiery red shards of agony, eating into my flesh. Masked faces hover above, floating like cold swollen moons. I want to see their eyes; I _need_ to read something in them – _a sign that this will stop?_ - but I can't. All I see is their clinical masks, crisp and white, and their rubbery-gloved hands armed with horrifying implements.

Needles. Razor sharp and elongated, glinting in the harsh light that burns my eyes, burying deep into my muscles.

And then there's the noise. Drills. Searing into my bones like red-hot sparkplugs, causing my body to float on a thick foam of dread. A copper metallic scent – my blood – fills my lungs, making my stomach roll over repeatedly.

The world swims blackly away and then returns in fragments. Above the drills I can hear a single roaring word repeated over and over; "NO!" It's a man screaming with the pain that I feel, choking with the agony I'm unable to communicate. I recognise that ragged voice but right now it's impossible to place, I'm incapable of focusing beyond the agony that rages on.

With grim determination I twist my head to see him, his fists bunched into his wild hair, tearing at it, his face twisted with harrowing despair. He stares at a single spot on the floor, rocking slightly like a crazed man, but when he senses my gaze his hazel eyes sweep up to mine and without his intention or knowledge that brief exchange offers a whispery thread of comfort, as fragile as a cobweb.

And with that, the nightmare surrounding me breaks up, fracturing into darkness that swallows me down. My body, unable to take anymore, sinks into the shadows, blacker than the darkest night. And I want to go there, I need to be free of this…

His howls of despair are my last conscious awareness.

* * *

I struggle to clamber up from groggy sleep, my skin clammy with sweat, my thoughts patchy with nightmares of floating masks and searing needles. I ache through to my bones but I realise with a mighty flood of relief that the drills and all the pain they bring have gone.

I open one eye by the thinnest slither and yellow light greets me, sickly but gentle, giving me the courage to open both eyes as I gradually take in my surroundings.

I'm back in that stuffy windowless room with the grubby light and the bloodied sink. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed my limbs dangle weightily, noticeably heavier than before. It brings reality crashing to me like a sobering slap in the face; my bones are lined with fucking metal!

Sitting up, I jolt with shock at my nakedness and despite being alone, I blush deeply. How naive of me, how else were they supposed to complete their brutal task? But what's more unnerving than my shameful state of undress and my weighted limbs, what causes acid vomit to lurch up from my stomach, is the grim lines of black ink drawn onto my skin like a skeletal tattoo, making the room ebb back and forth with the inhuman nature of it.

As I swallow down the threatening acid I remind myself I should be grateful I have no scars, no pain, and I know now that was Magneto's sole reason for choosing the Wolverine's healing power to pump through my veins.

Fresh clothes are folded neatly in the corner but I feel an overpowering urge to remove the ink sketches from my body. Glancing over to the sink I'm grateful to find someone has gone to the trouble of cleaning it and leaving a fresh cloth, although the same slimy half-used soap rests in its own mucous. No expense spared in the hotel of horror, right?

I scrub myself vigorously, not caring if it leaves my flesh tingling with rawness, only thankful that the black nauseating ink comes off with ease.

As I scour over my skin I reflect back over the limited memories I hold; the events leading me to this horror. I recall vividly how Magneto tried to convince me that the procedure was to enhance me, to strengthen my bones. He said I'd need to be "more sturdily built to withstand my own powers".

But he didn't count on my new senses, courtesy of the Wolverine. Senses I am learning to understand and trust.

I recognised his lie. I could feel it crackling through his thin blue veins like electricity, sparking out of his gray eyes.

So I challenged him, told him I wouldn't go through with it. I even grinned as I said it, because what could he do to me anyway? I'd been stripped of all my memories and there was nothing he could take away from me. I had nothing to lose.

Or so I thought.

You see, I had no inkling he'd have any bargaining power. I underestimated Magneto's sharp perception; he noticed those tags appearing around the Wolverine's neck without explanation, that give-away sign of our interaction.

I also misjudged the strength of my feelings towards the feral, something Magneto inexplicably knew. So when he hauled the Wolverine into the room and threatened to kill him right there in front of me unless I went through with his sick smelting process, I had only one choice.

But you can't kill the Wolverine, right? You can't destroy the indestructible? And the casual response when I challenged Erik with this?

"My dear," he spoke through a peeled grin, "I could snap his neck clean through and healing power or not, they'd be no growing a new head. Although an improvement is needed."

As if to demonstrate his point, he flicked his fingers, causing the Wolverine's neck to splinter sickeningly, his head lolling at a strained and unnatural angle, a ghastly indescribable noise erupting from the feral as he fought the pain.

And as I watched the Wolverine heal, cracking his neck back with a growl, Magneto droned on, a hint of pleasure in his words:

"If you want to keep him as your pet Rogue, if you insist on taking in the untamable stray, then so be it. But there is a price and you know what that is."

Yes, I knew.

I flashed a glance at the Wolverine and he read me instantly, seeing the decision form in my eyes. His roaring refusals echoed off the walls and his curses leaked like spit between clenched teeth.

Disregarding the Wolverine's fierce pleas for me not to, I agreed to go through with it.

But I underestimated the horror of the procedure. Yes, I'd seen hints of it in the Wolverine's haunted eyes, but that was nothing compared to the true terror of it. And I also realise with dizzying sickness that they made him watch. That's why he was there, unable to move, helpless and yet knowing_, feeling,_ the hell I was going through.

My thoughts return to the present moment and with every inch of me scrubbed bare I stride to the pile of clothes, grateful they are dark and all-covering. As I clamber into the jeans, our brief kiss ripples to the forefront of my mind. It's my one pleasant memory and so I hang onto it, letting it linger, and as it does his words replay in my head:

"_It's complicated."_

Complicated? I'll tell you what complicated is; it's waking up with no memories, unable to determine a friend from an enemy. Starting from scratch with my beliefs, like beginning a rock sculpture from only air.

Complicated is trying to establish my own personality when I don't know who my best friend is, what my favourite colour is - _green?_ - or whether I'm losing my mind, tiny piece by tiny piece.

Complicated is being inexplicably drawn to a man with such intensity that I allow metal to be smelted to my bones to preserve his life. I can't explain it but there's something so deliciously dark about him. Something warm and dangerous. It's like being wrapped up in snug layers against the chill on bonfire night and standing just a little too close to the roaring fire so your cheeks burn pink with the heat. Then you step a little nearer so your eyes are full of yellow flames and fireflies of ash singe your clothes. And if you're brave enough get closer still, if you have the ability to break down those barriers of his and get skin-touchingly close, then you risk your heart melting into a white hot liquid, never to return to it's original state.

And that's why I put myself through hell to ensure his survival. Because I want to step into that fire. That's the bald truth, even though I don't understand it.

So here I am in this airless room with its sickly blinking light, staring at myself once again in the smeared mirror, unable to recognize the girl who gazes back at me. Even my eyes have a new metallic glint.

They say you forget pain. Isn't that what they say? Well I can tell you that's not true. Pain is tattooed onto my bones and I'm reminded of it with every heavy step.

And what have I gained for my sacrifice?

Only one thing; the blessed relief that I can still feel his dark sizzling energy in the air, stirring my blood. It tells me the Wolverine is alive and he's near. Broken and pained maybe, but living and breathing all the same.

It was worth it.

* * *

Phew, that was heavy going to write and hence why it's a short chapter!

Like I said, bad day in work. :-)


	7. Fight Fire With Fire

Surprise! :-)

And yes I am hanging my head in shame at how long I have left this gathering dust. I have no excuse really, other than I needed a brief break from it, decided to move onto something lighter, and that 'something' stretched into several stories much longer than anticipated.

Anyway, back to it. I hope I still have some readers out there…

* * *

There are no clocks in this place, no windows to the outside world, nothing to indicate the flow of time. I guess it's been about twelve hours since I stood scrubbing the ink from my skin, but who knows? It could be true to say that time doesn't exist within this mundane building.

I'm free - within these walls at least - to wander around, but there's little to see. Apart from the small room I awoke in, I've discovered a dingy kitchen and a grubby bathroom, but otherwise the endless corridors lead nowhere.

In this expanse of solitary time, time that may not move forward at all, I'm beginning to go stir-crazy, slowly losing my mind, not that it was wholly in tact in the first place.

When did I last see the sun? When did I feel its warmth brushing my skin? How long has it been since I looked up at the stars prickling the black sky, seeming so close I could reach up and touch them?

The stifling loneliness has given me freedom to think, allowing my recent experiences and limited memories to form sluggishly into opinions.

I grasp that Magneto was by no means my protector; it was never about me. His only motivation is the Brotherhood and through this realisation, along with the horrors he has put me through, my trust in him has whittled away to nothing. Yet I'm left confused about my beliefs. Surely I should be on the side of mutants, my own kind, fighting for what they stand for?

My thoughts drift to the Wolverine, although there holds another knot of confusion. I wish I could understand my draw to him. I sense him within the walls of this building and for reasons I can't understand, his presence gives me comfort, despite the fact he is locked out of sight and out of reach.

My thoughts are interrupted by a sudden change in the air causing me to stop dead in my tracks. I can almost taste the metallic essence of Magneto as he glides towards me along the corridor, emerging into view with his cape rippling and his body language regal.

His fingers twitch, sending an invisible message that computes straight to the metal lining of my bones. My body lifts a foot off the floor as if I'm weightless, incapable of escaping the hold he has over me.

His eyes glint with malice at this impressive demonstration, one that renders me useless and causes my heart to grip with fear, bringing with it the crashing realisation that I'm completely trapped here, fully under the control of this barbaric man. For the first time since my memories began I feel an overwhelming need to escape his clutches and tears sting the corner of my eyes at the predicament I've allowed myself to be led into.

"Let me see the Wolverine," I demand, unsure why or what I'd gain from that, yet craving his inexplicable security all the same.

"When are you going to stop pining after that mutt Rogue?" he responds in annoyance.

With no answer forthcoming he lets go of his invisible grip on me and I drop heavily to the floor, stumbling forward onto my knees and grazing the skin through my jeans, although my healing power quickly takes care of that.

His eyes narrow as I clamber to my feet and face him squarely, standing firm. We have an uneasy standoff situation here; he needs me and I know that; I need the Wolverine and he knows that, even if neither of us understands why.

"All in good time, my dear," he eventually responds with a shrug as if it doesn't matter at all, "Right now, your next mutation is awaiting."

He turns his back on me, heading along the corridor, and I have no option but to follow, dragged along by the inescapable power he has over my metal-lined skeleton, stumbling over myself in a bid to keep up with his pace.

Several winding corridors and unmarked doors later and we enter a room I've not seen before. It's large and mostly bare, dimly lit and dreary, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom.

In front of me stands a young man who I guess is not much older than me, his hair dyed blonde at the tips. His stance is confident, verging on arrogant, and he plays with a lighter, repeatedly sparking it up with well-practiced ease.

"Hello there Rogue," he says through a smug grin.

I stare blankly at him, feeling only frustration that he stirs no memories within me when he clearly knows who I am, and as he introduces himself – _"The name's Pyro,"_ – a needle is already floating through the air under Magneto's command, Pyro's arm readily held out, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Pyro has the profound ability to manipulate fire," Magneto announces with pride as the boy's blood seeps into a transparent vial, sizzling with fiery heat and youthful energy, "It'll be another impressive enhancement to you, our little parasite."

Sick rises up into my throat as I foresee the revolting deed about to take place again, yet I feel no fear. Nothing can compare to the horrific operation I endured and I reason that if I can survive that, I can survive anything. I simply grit my teeth and bow my head submissively, because what choice do I have?

As the needle reaches my arm, I smile. Not a grin of happiness or pleasure, but a detached expression of madness at the indignation of all this; the lack of choice on my part, the heartless intrusion of my body.

I don't want to be an all-powerful mutant. I feel no desire to become the Brotherhood's weapon. And as Pyro's essence flows into my veins, my blood begins to boil and my anguish turns to rage. What little capacity I had for rational thought vanishes and I give in to furious impulse, connecting to a spark of Pyro's lighter as he idly strikes it, drawing its glowing heat towards me in a zip-line of light.

To my horror and equally intense satisfaction, I release my fury through this newfound power, forcing a huge ball of flames to protrude outward, filling the room in seconds with an angry hostile inferno. Thick flames dance ungracefully through the room, uncontrolled and dangerous, biting wildly.

It's a frightening, dreamlike experience and I watch as the firelight plays on Magneto's face and his shadow dances restlessly behind him as Pyro attempts to stave the flames. As I begin to understand this mutation and swiftly gain an element of control, I ensure the fire licks at Magneto's cape, searing the edges.

"Put this cursed blaze out!" Magneto bellows, his voice strained with alarm, "Stop her!"

"I can't!" Pyro screams, "Her control is equal to mine! She's gonna' destroy this place!"

And that's precisely my aim. I want to channel all my anger into destruction and mutilation.

I buzz from the thrill.

"Get the Wolverine!" I hear Pyro scream to Magneto, "He can stop her!"

Magneto backs out of the room, his face sweaty with the blazing heat, while Pyro continues his attempts to dampen down my flame-filled venom, although there's no disguising his morbid fascination with my unruly display.

My anger knows no bounds and it's only when the Wolverine appears in the room, always a formidable presence, that I momentarily waver from my demolition, watching his eyes dart wildly as he takes in the carnage. He looks tired, haunted, and I wonder when he last slept.

"What the hell…?" he growls.

My only response is to direct another angry flare towards Magneto, who has reappeared alongside the Wolverine.

As Magneto shields himself and Pyro does his best to redirect the flames, the Wolverine fearlessly steps towards me and I can see his skin flushing hotly, his shirt already damp and clinging to him from the searing temperature.

"Back off Wolverine!" I yell, sending another dangerous burst towards Magneto, beginning to outwit the boy Pyro and enjoying the fear I see in his eyes.

"What the fuck have you done to her?" Logan shouts over his shoulder at the other two men.

"She's out of control!" Pyro screams in response.

What they don't realise is that I'm in complete control. At least of the fire I manipulate, although I admit, possibly not my mind. Every second that passes I'm discovering how to direct these flames and how to influence their ferocity. I've tapped into something deep down; unlocked a level of control that I'm certain I've never uncovered before. I'm filled with exhilaration, along with contrasting terror over the destruction I'm causing, afraid that I have the capability to maim, maybe even to kill.

The Wolverine ignores my warning and steps closer still, feverish orange flames flickering in his eyes. There seems no end to his courage or pain threshold. I can see the hairs on his skin beginning to singe and I can smell his flesh burning.

With another surge of uncontrollable anger I release a vehement flame that comes from a depth far lower than I ever thought I could go; fury for my memory loss, for the pain I have endured, for the fact that I am cursed with a parasitic power and being unwillingly turned into a weapon...

The resulting flare hammers both Pyro and Magneto to the ground, their bodies thudding simultaneously to the stone floor and their unconscious forms remaining motionless, lifeless.

_Have I killed them?_

I barely have time to consider this as the Wolverine pounces without warning, hurling me to the floor, smothering the flames that surround me with his own body, melting his skin in the process, his ghastly roar of pain ringing loudly in my ears.

His substantial adamantium weight collapses onto me and he's constricting my chest, although that's not what stops my breathing. I'm consumed with panic that I've killed him. My torturous mind torments me with every passing moment that he remains unmoving on top of me.

My vision is blocked but my senses detect that the entire room is still. Deathly still. The concentrated stench of smoldering ash fills the air and I wonder, did I really cause all this?

"What's happened to me?" I whisper into the shadows. But the shadows have no answers.

I realise this could be my opportunity to escape, _our_ opportunity to escape, but I'm trapped under the Wolverine's immense weight and his healing has yet to take effect. I glance to his hand that lies limply in the far left of my vision, and the raw pulpy mass of melted skin causes my stomach to roll nauseously.

After what feels like an eternity, but in reality must be mere seconds, I feel the Wolverine's chest begin to rise and fall with shallow, ragged breaths. Relief washes over me knowing it's only a matter of time until he recovers from this horror and heals from his wounds.

But my relief is short-lived, replaced by a sinking sense of doom as I detect the stirring of Magneto in the far corner of the room...

* * *

I admit I probably don't deserve any readers or reviews given how I abandoned this for so long.

*hides*

However, I rather sheepishly ask if you'd be kind enough to leave a review, just so I know if it's worth continuing? Because seriously, this story takes a lot out of me! I have to shift my brain into a 'somber' mode that feels somewhat unnatural right now!

Or maybe I could leave it right here, like the unforgivable cliffhanger of the brilliant Sherlock Holmes that recently aired here in Britain. I mean, how the bloody hell can they stop there, at that point, at the end of the series?

I digress…


	8. Faint Hope

Thank you to those kind, generous folks who reviewed the last chapter. As much as I'm enjoy writing this, I need some encouragement to keep going with what is a somewhat intense and slightly claustrophobic story...

:o)

* * *

Logan's weight is painfully crushing, but I'm relieved his breathing is steady, becoming deeper and more regulated. His face is so close to mine I feel his eyes flutter open, his lashes brushing my cheek.

"Marie?"

His voice is thin and choked and he lifts his neck in an attempt to take in his surroundings, struggling to focus. It's unnerving seeing him so frail; until now he's struck me as such a powerful and dominant man. His flesh is skinned and raw, gradually healing over, albeit too slowly.

"What's happened to your mutation?" he mumbles, his voice barely a whisper. With that his head slumps back down, as if the question took all his strength. His eyelids close, leaving me to contemplate his words as I realise that parts of my bare skin touches his, that his cheek is pressed to mine with no parasitic pull.

In my confusion I struggle to make sense of it. I can only conclude that my crash-course in manipulating Pyro's mutation has unlocked the ability of control. I can feel my power sizzling beneath my skin and I realise I've subconsciously pressed it below the surface.

"I guess I can repress it."

I whisper my conclusion into the shadows and I feel his eyelids flutter open, indicating he heard, but they slowly close again, his body having little strength for anything other than revival.

A distinct groan ripples from the far side of the room and a surge of panic rises as I realise I have only a slim window of opportunity to escape from here before Magneto finds consciousness again.

"Wolverine," I hiss sharply, and after a moment's hesitation, "Logan. Wake up."

He lifts his head again, the movement stronger this time, his hazel eyes managing to focus. Realising his crushing position he rolls off me with great effort. Only now, with some distance between us, can I take him in fully; his shirt burnt to rags, his skin beneath it healing rapidly.

"We need to get out of here," I whisper.

"You go," he responds weakly.

"Not without you," I state firmly, "We stick together, right?"

"Right," he agrees after a thoughtful moment, forcing himself unsteadily to a sitting position. I clamber to my feet swiftly and reach for him, helping him to stand, his immense weight a struggle and his balance unsteady.

At that moment Magneto stirs, his consciousness creeping back. Logan and I exchange a glance and begin making our way silently towards the exit where he lays, my heart pounding so loudly I start to believe the thudding might wake our captors.

We step around Pyro and his unnatural stillness is haunting, yet it doesn't stop me from swiping up his lighter and tucking it securely into my pocket.

Logan raises his eyebrows at my action but we exchange no words as we continue to steal towards the door, ever-closer to Magneto, barely daring to breath. We both know if he gains consciousness we will remain trapped here, indefinitely under his spell.

I silently pray – _do I believe in God? _– as we creep nearer, and I can't tear my eyes from his wax-like face, expecting his eyes to flicker open at any moment, signalling the end of our possible escape.

But his eyes remain closed and as we cautiously step over his sprawling form, Logan gingerly opens the exit door a crack; its hinges squealing as a cold draft blasts through the opening.

We stealthily step out into the corridor where the sickly-yellow florescent lights glow above us, giving a queasy tint to our surroundings. Logan disregards what's left of his ragged shirt as we glance right then left, each direction a mirror image of the other, neither of us knowing which way to turn. But there's no time to deliberate and Logan, now back to full strength, swiftly takes charge, leading the way, opting to turn right.

Reaching a corner he holds his hand up indicating for me to stay back, and from where I stand he's immensely towering, his broad shoulders appearing to span the width of the corridor. Despite his bulk, his movements are agile and military-like as he ensures the way is clear before we round the corner.

Advancing into this hellish maze we have no idea if we're moving towards the outside world or deeper into the bowels of this soulless building. The corners are laced with decaying cobwebs and there's a dank smell growing with every step. The fluorescents flicker sporadically, some blinking out completely, causing the shadows to thicken. I shake off the spooky feeling with a shrug.

"Logan," I whisper into the cold silence, "Are you okay?"

He halts abruptly and turns to look at me, his thoughts churning over for a moment before his response surges from his mouth as if he's been desperately fighting to hold it back.

"Why did you let him do it?"

The simmering anger in his eyes shocks me, leaving me stunned.

"The operation Marie," he clarifies in response to my bewildered stare, "Lining your bones with goddamn metal. Why did you agree to it?"

Damn him, he thinks I should have let Magneto slaughter him rather than go through with it. Yet even as the horrific memories of the surgery flash to the surface, I know I only had one choice.

He's waiting for an answer but I'm unsure how to respond. What does he want me to say? My only certainty is that his survival was worth all the pain.

He strides towards me, grasping hold of my shoulders aggressively and pushing me backwards into the stone wall, his voice coated with such agony it causes my heart to clench, "Goddamnit Marie, you should never have allowed him to do that to you!"

"And let Magneto kill you?" I yell back, my anger surging, "You think I should have let him snap your neck right in front of me?"

"It would have been preferable to watching you go through that ordeal," he growls darkly, the jagged stone digging painfully into my back, but there is little I can do; he overpowers me.

At that moment the fluorescent lights fade to cores of white, struggling to remain lit, leaving the wall I'm pressed into shrouded in gloom.

I'm grateful for the shadows; it hides the tears filling my chest and throat, but Logan must sense my sorrow as his expression softens and in an instant his arms fold around me, pulling me into him. I try to push away, wanting to maintain my anger with him and with myself, but he holds me securely, pressing me flush to him, his hands stroking through my hair as he murmurs apologies over and over.

I wonder if I deserve this affection or his apologies, but regardless, my forehead drops to rest on his chest and his arms tighten around me. So comforting is his closeness that I long to stay here in the darkness, encased in his muscles.

I have no measure of how long we remain wrapped in each other, but when I eventually lift my head his eyes are piercing into mine, glinting blackly. And right here, mid-escape and hidden in a darkened stretch of maze, I sense him leaning into me, his lips moving closer to mine, and I can scarcely believe he's choosing _this_ moment to kiss me. Maybe it's the highly charged energy sizzling between us, or maybe it's the silent darkness closing in around us, making it seem like we're the only two people in existence.

I know our priority should be our escape, yet all thoughts have evaporated and my heart races with anticipation as I ensure my parasitic power is pressed deep below the surface of my skin. I want this, even if I don't understand it, even if I barely know this feral creature who presses himself so intimately into me.

His lips catch mine in a deep and somewhat desperate kiss, intense and devouring, and I willingly lose myself to it, disregarding all sense of caution. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm aware of the crude stone wall digging sharply into my back, but he fills me with a dark, unfamiliar swell of lust that numbs any such pain.

The unmistakable echo of footsteps abruptly and regrettably ends our intimate exchange and our eyes share a brief sober glance before we hastily assess our surroundings. To our left is an endless corridor which disappears into impenetrable darkness and to our right is the corner from where the footsteps advance.

With nowhere to hide, faint hope withers away and we remain frozen, listening to the footsteps draw near. My torturous imagination protracts time, the seconds stretching out as Logan positions himself in front of me, his claws erupting, primed for the oncoming threat.

The moment of anticipation elongates, yet no amount of time could have prepared me for the individual who rounds the corner and appears before us. Her entire body is unclothed, scaly in texture and deep blue in colour, her hair blood-red. But what is most striking is her eyes; deep-set and of a startling luminous gold.

"Mystique," Wolverine addresses her casually, although his claws remain exposed and his body language tense, "Still hanging out with the metal freak, huh?"

She laughs cynically, her eyes piercing into Logan's, her seductive voice rebounding off the cold walls, "Look who's talking, Wolverine."

In a surging flash she pounces on him and he snares a curse, thrashing wildly to throw her off. Mystique lands gracefully on her feet, smiling with depraved amusement before lunging for him again, a bitter tussle ensuing.

The Wolverine fights hard, his muscles flexing and pumping with raw ferocity but her speed and agility is extraordinary, her sharp strikes causing ribbons of blood to course down Logan's body faster than what his healing power can contend with. They are equally matched and there's no predicting the outcome of this encounter.

Except Mystique has made one fatal error.

She has disregarded me, the Rogue.

I move towards her silently, my mutation sizzling on the surface of my skin, and as she pauses to assess the Wolverine's next movement with a half-smile on her face, I simply raise my forefinger and gently touch her cheek.

The draw is immediate, painful in its intensity, and she sucks in a hiss of breath, the smile fading rapidly, her unblinking eyes swivelling to mine as she tries to make sense of what's happening.

It takes a total of three seconds to drop her to the floor like a broken doll.

Logan clambers to his feet and cracks his neck loudly as a deep gash above his eye socket zips close.

"You're good," he states, staring down to watch Mystique twitching lifelessly on the cold floor.

He raises his head to look at me just as I tap into my newly acquired power and transform into her, mimicking her every detail down to the luminous, penetrating eyes.

"You're damn good," Logan adds, breaking out into a broad grin that reaches right to his eyes.

I smile in return, the gesture as genuine as his, knowing I may have found a way out of this cursed place...


End file.
